


it's getting hot in here

by angryjane



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow & Related Fandoms
Genre: Bisexual Simon Snow, M/M, Making Out, Popsicles, Post-Canon, Simon is a Mess, This Is STUPID, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch Is Gay for Simon Snow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-17
Updated: 2019-04-17
Packaged: 2020-01-15 06:09:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18492967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angryjane/pseuds/angryjane
Summary: There's a heatwave, and Baz is cheeky.





	it's getting hot in here

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this on a dare.  
> i have no idea how to write anything even remotely sexy but i tried my best.  
> sorry.

 

**Baz**

There was a heat wave. In fucking May.

Bunce was in America snogging Micah and enjoying _not_ being here in the hundred and ten degree weather. I’d texted her, telling her what was happening and she’d replied,

_“Haha get fucked.”_

Typical.

My skin is always running cold, and so I don’t much mind the heat, but it’s driving Simon absolutely batty. He’s always been fond of the cold (explains why he likes me), and so he’s almost lost his mind in this muggy heat.

Something similar happened back in our fifth year, actually. It’d been a record heat, and I’d walked into our room to find Snow on his bed shirtless. It’d been very difficult then, seeing as I was just realizing my feelings for the Chosen One, and seeing his stupid muscles was not making it any easier.

It also wasn’t any easier now.

With Bunce gone, I’d dropped all pretense of staying away, and had been staying over Simon’s flat the past two nights. It’d all been horribly domestic, honestly, cooking breakfast, watching stupid telly, making out on the couch. Snow _brushed my hair_. It’s all wonderfully sweet and wonderfully gay.

Simon _is_ wonderfully sweet, and sometimes I wish he weren’t. I love it when he takes care of me, of course, when he holds me in his lap and runs his fingers through my hair, when he wakes me up with eggs and bacon, when he stops by my uni with blood from the butcher’s shop sneakily put into juice boxes. He’s so fucking sweet, but I wish he’d just fuck me already.

He’s so polite about it. He won’t make a move until he’s absolutely sure I want it, and I don’t really get how he doesn’t see that I _do_ want it, I’ve _been_ wanting it, for fucking years. He’s too nice to do anything, but still I see the way he watches me, and it’s driving me insane.

And now there’s a bloody heat wave on top of it all.

After my lessons are over at uni, I’ve got the rest of the afternoon off, and so I find myself on the stairs up to Snow’s flat, mindlessly humming a tune as I go. (It’s a bad habit I’ve picked up from him, one I can’t seem to shake.) (Bunce does it too. It’s bloody obnoxious.) I get the door open and drop my bag by the front, looking around. Snow is nowhere to be seen, but I hear him moving around in the kitchen, so I head over, rounding the corner wall.

He’s shirtless. Again.

And he’s wearing fucking _booty shorts._

Merlin and Morgana, I’m living a charmed life.

He’s got his back to me, and doesn’t hear me approaching, giving me a second to admire the way the muscles in his back tense and release as he shuffles around the counter, preparing himself an ice cream sundae. His wings are folded neatly against his back so as not to knock anything over, and his tail whips around lightly from where it’s poking out of one side of his shorts.

His _shorts._ Alister Crowley, have his legs always been that muscular? He’s been working out more since Christmas, with all this time on his hands, and it shows. His calves are strong and his biceps are like the size of my thigh by now.

I’m gonna cry.

Or pass out.

Or bite him.

I really don’t know which, at this point.

I take a steadying breath, and silently pad up beside him, leaning over his shoulder to whisper in his ear, “My, Snow, I wasn’t aware this was a strip club.”

He lets out a yelp, dropping his spoon on the floor, wings fanning out and smacking me in the shoulder, hard.

“Baz!” He whirls around to smack me in the chest, wings knocking the open bottle of hot fudge to the floor. I’m laughing, and he lets out an adorable huff and a whine, crossing his arms stubbornly. Like a petulant child. Except, you know, and extremely “swol” one.

“Sorry, sorry,” I tell him but I’m not sorry, because he’s all red, either from embarrassment or the heat, and it looks wonderful against his freckles. When Simon Snow blushes, he blushes _hard_. It starts in hi sears, then moves to his cheeks, his nose, and down his neck. I’d spent the first few years of our… acquaintance mapping out the route. I could trace it with my eyes closed. Or with my tongue.

“You’re the worst,” He sighs, but he’s smiling a little as he dips down to pick up his dropped spoon and the spilled fudge. I get an eyeful, and for once I’m pissed at myself for feeding the night before, because my face heats like a fire and again, I think I’m gonna pass out.

“...Baz? You okay?” Snow’s leaning towards me now, concerned, eyebrows knit adorably and eyes wide, and his lips are pouting and his face is… so…. close….

I swallow, and I think his eyes follow it, but I can’t be sure.

“Just balmy,” I say, turning on my heel to head into the living room, sure to sway my hips a little just in case. “Bring me an ice pop?” I ask over my shoulder, glancing back at him. Sure enough, his eyes are following my hungrily. I hold back a smirk. _Gotcha._

“…Yeah. Yeah, I’ll… do that.” He says slowly, as if dazed, as I leave the kitchen. I collapse onto the couch with a sigh, waiting for m knight in shining armor to bring me my dessert. Or be my dessert, either works for me.

He comes back a moment later, tail twitching nervously behind him, chewing his lip thoughtfully. He hands me a popsicle and plops down beside me, twisting to lean back against the armrest facing me, bowl in his lap. One strong leg falls into my lap, and the other hanging off the side of the couch and swinging back and forth. The windows are open (of course) but the blinds are closed, partially due to the heat and partially because he knew I’d be coming over (god, he’s so fucking _sweet_ ), and his hair seems to glow in the dim room. He shovels ice cream into his mouth, tilting his head at me, waiting.

This is what we usually do after class, he and I, and Bunce if she’s around. We sit here and talk about class or whatever strikes our fancy for a few hours, until Bunce or I stalk off to make dinner or order takeaway, and then we watch telly together, commenting on the stupid decisions the characters make. Or, Bunce and I comment on them, until Snow shushes us.

“Remember that girl I was telling you about the other day?” I start, opening the packaging for my pop, “The one who keeps hitting on Leah?” Leah is the only one I’ve met in my classes who I’d really call a friend. She’s tall and very rude, like me. I love her.

“Yeah?” Snow prompts through a full mouth. Disgusting. I love him.

“She got hit by a car.”

Simon chokes on his ice cream, and I cackle.

“Not really. She is pregnant though.” I shrug, yet another nasty habit I picked up from this idiot.

“But I thought she liked girls?”

“She can like both, Snow. Like you.”

“Oh yeah! I forgot!” I roll my eyes.

“Forgot you like both?”

“Kinda forgot anyone but you existed to even like.” He says it nonchalantly, as if that doesn’t make me want to snog the living daylights out of him.

I scoff instead.

“Anything interesting happen in your classes?” I ask, starting on my popsicle.

He opens his mouth to reply, but nothing coms out, and I watch as his eyes trail down to my mouth. Or rather, the popsicle in my mouth. He gulps.

Interesting.

“Snow?” I press, raising an eyebrow innocently.

“R-right. Uh,” He stutters, that blush working its way through his skin again, “Um… what was the question?”

I roll my eyes again, but really I am delighted. Nice to see I’m affecting him as much as he is me.

“I _said,_ ” I try to sound annoyed but I’m afraid it just comes out amused, “Anything interesting to share?”

He shakes his head vehemently, as if caught in some kind of crime.

“That so?” I ask, sliding the pop back into my mouth and _sucking_. Like a charm, his eyes dart back down, and his blush glows brighter. His spoon lands back in his bowl with a loud _clank_ and he jumps, startled. His foot shifts in my lap, kicking at my thigh.

I drop my other hand onto his calf, stroking slowly and carefully, watching goose bumps rise under my fingers. Snow shifts, looking away.

“Nothing interesting? Nothing new?” My hand is moving the other way now, towards his foot, and I pause my talking to put the pop back in my mouth a moment. His eyes helplessly follow it, and he makes a little fucking _whimper_ _holy shit._ “That’s a shame,” I say slowly, drawing out the syllables, smirk seductive even though I feel like my whole body is on fire. (Ironic, isn’t it?)

“Y-Yeah.” He tries, standing suddenly. “I’m gonna- I’m gonna go put this is the sink.” And then he’s high-ailing it out of the room, his till-full bowl of ice cream in his hand. I watch his legs as he walks, his back, his shoulders. His hips. Stupid, strong, fucking hips. Jesus.

He’s gone a while, and for a second I think he freaked out, but then he comes back, looking adorably determined, and pointedly not looking at my face. He sits back on the couch, farther away this time, and doesn’t put his leg back on my lap.

“I’ve got a shit-ton of Poli Sci reading to do,” eh starts, still not looking at me, “It’s boring. I hate that class. I really don’t give a shit about capitalism, or socialism, or anything, I just wanna learn the _cool_ stuff. Or draw. I don’t get why….“ He’s not looking at me as he drones on, but I’m looking at him. His profile is gorgeous, outlined by the faint light coming from the kitchen. My eyes trail the slight upturn of his nice, the way his jaw works up and down as he talks, how his shoulders dip when he says something he’s particularly upset about, how his eyes move around _anywhere_ but on me.

“.... And then she said, ‘I don’t care that it’s your set, I’m sitting here.’ Can you believe—“

“Snow,” I interrupt, “Look at me.”

He shuts up, and shakes his head.

“Snow.” I repeat, chastising. The ice pop is melting a little in my hand.

“No.” He whispers pointedly, swallowing again. One of his stupid showy swallows.

“ _Simon_ ,” I sigh, and his head snaps towards me. I can’t help but feel victorious and smug; it works every time. “Why won’t you look at me?”

He doesn’t respond, but his eyes fall to the popsicle in my hand. Slowly, I raise it back to my lips, his eyes following it, and he shudders a little as I slip it back in my mouth.

“Hm.” I hum around the popsicle, and he tenses. I shift a little closer on the couch, so my knees are pressing against the side of his thigh. “ ‘S good.” I say, still not taking it out. I can hear his breathing, heavy and shallow, and i lean in a little more, so our faces are hardly an inch apart. “Want a taste?” It’s muffled, but it sounds seductive enough. It seems to work, as Simon’s eyes dart up to mine, wide and uncertain, and he looks like a deer caught in the headlights. It’s adorable. It’s my new favorite look on him: shocked, embarrassed, and hopelessly aroused.

He nods.

So I kiss him, roughly, and he gasps. I push him down against the armrest, moving to land in his lap, careful to hold away the popsicle still in my hand. His arms come up automatically, one wrapping securely around my waist, the other coming up to my hair and _pulling._ He knows that always gets me, and I gasp. He giggles slightly, murmuring, “Tastes like cherry. My favorite.”

It might me my new favorite, too.

**Author's Note:**

> ...yeah.
> 
> feedback would be SO APPRECIATED. SERIOUSLY. HELP ME GET BETTER AT WRITING INTIMACY. PLEASE. I'M BEGGING YOU.
> 
> have a lovely day!!!
> 
> EDIT: oh my god. i cannot believe i missed the opportunity to name this one "some like it hot" jesus fuck i'm an IDIOT. /GOD/. is it too late to change it??


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